Good King Wenceslas
by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
Summary: Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful./Returning miserable and frozen from a hard day in a terrible winter storm, Arthur finds a surprise waiting in his chambers that melts his heart a little. Fluff. No slash.


**For 1917farmgirl, who has had a rough year and is having trouble finding her inner fluff. Farmgirl, my love, you're a peach.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Merlin_, its characters, settings, or events; all rights belong to the BBC and their respective creators.**

* * *

_Page and monarch, forth they went,_

_Forth they went together,_

_Through the rude wind's wild lament_

_And the bitter weather._

* * *

Arthur likes to think he's a good king, that he's built himself a reputation as fair and just, if not merciful. For pity's sake, he's just spent an entire day—since before sunrise—freezing his extremities off in favor of overseeing the safe relocation of the unfortunate denizens of the lower town unlucky enough to be displaced and checking on the rest to see if they needed removal as well. No one but him (and Merlin) had stayed at it as long (thanks to Arthur's mandated rotation of everyone else, which was clever and efficient and _nice_). He knows he had a reputation when he was younger and that his father was feared by many, but he thought he'd moved past that at this point.

That's why it bothers him so much when a young boy—eight or nine years old, cheeks and nose and eyes and fly-away curls barely visible in the gap between woolen cap and cape, arms tucked under his armpits for warmth, all the skin in sight pinched pink by the cold—detaches himself abruptly from the shelter of the gateway with a startled shout of "the king" and bolts into the citadel.

Merlin must read his upset in the line of his shoulders, because as they enter the relative hush of indoors away from the howling of the storm, his tongue begins chattering as much as his teeth for the first time in over an hour. "That was young Bart," he informs. "Works in the kitchens mostly, running errands. Sometimes runs messages for the nobles." This eases nothing for Arthur, so Merlin hazards a comforting guess. "Probably someone wanted to know when you got in and set him to watching."

"Merlin," Arthur sighs, too weary to say more; Merlin understands and falls silent but for the obnoxious squishing of wet boots.

They're both wet through to the skin, the rain seemingly having been driven straight through any protections and right into the bones by the same vicious wind that had taken to knocking down some of the less sturdy buildings in the lower town and whistling straight through most of the rest. They're cold and miserable; Arthur's face and hands and legs are numb-tingling-painful, his skin and muscles and bones ache, and he'd been looking forward to fresh clothes and a roaring fire and something warm to eat, but even that prospect has been dimmed by his sudden melancholy. Now he just wants everything to be _over_ and to that end hurries his steps even further, leaving Merlin stumbling along in his wake on weary, frozen feet. Merlin huffs a sigh or two, but doesn't say anything and is ignored anyway.

His disappointed ruminations last precisely until he reaches the door of his chambers and finds the handle abruptly pulled from his reach by a startled maid on the other side. She squeaks in surprise and gets a response from further inside that draws Arthur's attention past her, at which point he discovers his room is full of people.

"Begging your pardon, sire," the one by the door says, drawing his attention immediately back to her. "We meant to be done before you got here."

"What," is the only response Arthur can manage, not even a question.

Merlin, on the other hand. "Well, his majesty was eager to partake of the comforts you've provided here," he says brightly. He starts pushing at Arthur's back and Arthur moves automatically, realizing only as Merlin starts speaking again that they're moving pointedly towards the fireplace, one of the few parts of the room not already occupied, and filled with a roaring fire to boot. "I'm sure he'll be satisfied to warm himself by this lovely fire until you've finished." Now that they've reached the fireplace and his face is somewhat shielded by his turned back, Merlin glares secretly at Arthur as if he'd _better_ be satisfied, then motions subtly to the rest of the room.

"Yes, of course," Arthur agrees dumbly, his brain feeling as frozen as the rest of him. Merlin nods his approval and removes Arthur's sodden cloak, which is promptly whisked away and out the door by a passing servant; both Merlin and Arthur blink a little in surprise and Arthur has the sudden realization that perhaps Merlin's brain is a little frozen too.

From his vantage point, Arthur surveys the activity of the room. At his bed, two women are adjusting the covers back into place, the lumps at the end of the bed and the metal bucket and tongs indicating that they'd placed warm bricks for his feet; there are woolen blankets stacked on a convenient chair, extra bricks and an iron nestled in the ashes under the (recently stoked) fire. A comfortable change of clothes is stretched out on the hearth. A closed pot of something, hot by the wrappings, and a jug of mulled wine, also wrapped, sit next to what appears to be fresh bread rolls. And possibly best of all, a hot bath is steaming away, nearly completely full, a maid carefully monitoring the addition of herbs for the soothing of sore muscles.

"When did you manage to arrange this?" Arthur mutters to Merlin as what appears to be the last servant carrying water for the bath arrives, neatly sliding past the exiting maids from by the bed.

"I didn't," Merlin mutters back. "I asked someone to make sure your fire stayed lit, but the rest of this would have to be timed carefully in order to be hot upon your arrival, or watched to be sure it doesn't burn, and I wasn't able to work any of it out while we were in the lower town." Then realization or suspicion crawls across his face. "Oh, maybe . . ."

He doesn't finish his thought, instead changing tack as the last of the servants files efficiently out the door and flying into a flurry of activity that ends with Arthur soaking in a warm bath with a bowl of stew in his hands and a glass of warm wine on a nearby stool and Merlin running off to change into dry clothes of his own.

* * *

"Okay," Merlin says by way of announcing his return, loud and chipper and startling Arthur from a light doze.

"Where have you been?" he demands peevishly as Merlin rounds the screen. "My bathwater is growing cold!"

Merlin pauses and blinks, temporarily derailed. "You could have gotten out at any time," he says, annoyingly reasonable. "You like to insist you're capable of getting dressed on your own, remember?"

Arthur glares, but Merlin just smiles serenely, picking up Arthur's towel (which had also been warmed by the fire) and offering it out. Arthur splashes water at him, nearly getting the towel and getting nowhere near Merlin, and Merlin glares at him and the resulting puddle; it's Arthur's turn to smile. Merlin makes to drop the towel into the puddle and Arthur snatches it from him. Merlin grins as if he somehow won, the imbecile.

"So I asked around," Merlin says as if continuing a conversation as he wanders back to the fire to collect Arthur's clothing. Arthur says nothing and Merlin continues, as expected. "I asked Hannah to keep an eye on your fire and your wood supply." He pauses to poke at the fire for a few seconds, tilting his head then adding another log; he studies the fire and wood supply until he's apparently satisfied and nods in approval. Standing and gathering up Arthur's things, he continues. "She mentioned it to Millisent and Galien and the three of them got to talking and they wanted to be sure you had warm clothes to change into too, after today, so they picked these things out and set 'em up and Hannah kept an eye on them when she came to check your fire." Arthur is suddenly very interested in Merlin's babbling; Merlin on the other hand drops his clothes over the screen, gathering up the dishes and moving to the table like it's any other day, apparently not as completely surprised and confused by what he's revealing as Arthur is.

"At some point, around lunch probably, someone got to thinking you'd probably be hungry and would want something warm and filling after all that work out in the cold and rain, so Cook arranged to have a runner keep watch by the gate so she'd know when you got back and could send something up still hot." The boy, Arthur realizes, relief and something alarmingly warm and fuzzy flooding through him. "Then someone thought, hey, if we're going to have that kind of advanced notice, we could maybe manage to get a hot bath together in that time, too, as long as we keep water boiling in the kitchen until then and Cook thought that was a great idea so she set aside a fireplace just for water for your bath whenever you came back to your chambers.

"When it started getting towards evening—" He glares at Arthur as the latter rounds the screen to find Merlin preparing his bed, but it's his "Arthur doesn't take care of himself" glare, so Arthur ignores it. "—they started thinking you'd get back late enough that you'd want to go to bed right after your bath and your dinner and they figured, what's the point of warm clothes and warm food and a warm bath if you're just going to get into a cold bed immediately after, so they added rotating bricks in the ashes to when they checked the fire and there you have it." He moves toward the fire with the now cool bricks, presumably to change them out for fresh, still hot ones. "Do you want me to iron the bed or would you rather not wait?"

Arthur stands in the middle of the room, staring dumbly at the remnants of his dinner, completely overwhelmed by everything Merlin has just said. Too overwhelmed to even think about answering.

People whose names he doesn't even know had done all of this for him without prompting, had thought through what needs and wants he might have when he got back to his chambers and taken great care to ensure they were all well met. Not only had that boy not been scared of him, he'd been actively looking out for Arthur's wellbeing. They all had. They'd put in more effort than needed or expected, done more than Arthur would have even requested, just because they . . . were thinking of him?

Merlin, fresh bricks wrapped and loaded in a bucket, starts coming back past him and pauses. "Arthur?" he asks, worry in the edges of his voice.

"They just did this?" Arthur asks without looking at him, the question heavy and slow on his tongue. "By themselves?"

"I just said—" Merlin starts, exasperated. Then he stops. "Yes," he says instead, soft and simple.

There's a pause. After a second, Merlin continues on his way to the bed. "You're a good king, Arthur," Merlin says without looking at him. "You take care of your people. Is it any surprise they want to take care of you?"

"I just—" But Arthur doesn't know how to end that sentence and lets it hang. Yes, it kind of is.

"Your people love you," Merlin tells him seriously, firmly. Confidently. Then he turns joking, "Well. Most of them. Not me, of course." But the careful way he's tucking wrapped bricks exactly where he knows Arthur's feet will be, delicate and focused, belies his words.

Arthur shies away from the mushy thoughts his defrosting brain is trying to produce, but can't help a soft smile. "Of course," he agrees.

Merlin looks up, probably catching the smile and the distinct lack of belief in his voice, and smiles back. "The rest of them, though . . ." he trails off. He gestures around the room. "Well."

Arthur's smile widens. "Well," he agrees, meaning it completely this time.

* * *

_Therefore, Christian men, be sure,_

_Wealth or rank possessing,_

_Ye who now will bless the poor_

_Shall yourselves find blessing._

* * *

**So "Good King Wenceslas" is a traditional Christmas/Yuletide carol about a king who braves foul weather to help a poor man he sees from the window, bringing him food and wood. I originally thought of it for the title, because Arthur's status as a good king who doubts it crept into this fic no matter how much I tried to keep it strictly fluff, but when I looked up the lyrics I got a lovely surprise in how well some of the verses fit this fic.**

**As always, comments, critiques, and constructive criticism are more than welcome as I am always looking to improve.**

**Happy Holidays!**

**May you have a joyous season!**

**M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng**


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